


Holy Darkness (Got a Hold on Me)

by SandrC



Series: Not Another Fanfiction Collection [11]
Category: Not Another D&D Podcast
Genre: After Shadowfell, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jossed, Learning to be okay again, M/M, Or not, Philosophical Musing, The Boobs are broken fucking people, Vampire!Hardwon, of a sort, take your pick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-04-12 16:11:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: The Boobs arrive back on the Prime Material Plane after Shadowfell.Hardwon sees the light. Moonshine brings good news. Beverly tells the truth.





	1. Come Back Changed

**Author's Note:**

> Title of the fic, chapter titles, and chapter summaries all from "Meet Me in the Woods" by Lord Huron.
> 
> You can wholly blame fangirlftw for this one because, like the worst of genies, I asked them what they wanted and they picked this. Also like a genie, I have twisted this into something befitting of the kingdom of tears I have built here, on AO3.
> 
> The way Scarlett was taken out was so choice I'm still reeling. Fucking drowned a bitch in her bed. Solid af y'all. Moonshine is so goddamn boss and the fact that Emily looked at the combat encounter, the initiative, and the fact that she dealt the least damage and determined that she was gonna deal with Scarlett first was so goddamn cool. I strive to be half the caster Moonshine is one day lol.
> 
> (The joke being I play a bard, so I can't, by sheer class differences, be anywhere close to the caster she is. Pure casters are horrifying, believe you-me.)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this Hardwon stuff. I'm so excited to see the thicc dummy again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I took a little journey to the unknown_   
>  _And I come back changed, I can feel it in my bones_   
>  _I fucked with the forces that our eyes can't see_   
>  _Now the darkness got a hold on me_

The portal tears and ripples and waves. It smells of iron and ash and then—greenery and water. _Home_.

His heart aches, skips a beat _if it could._

How long has it been? Really, _truly_? How long since they all saw the sun of Bahumia? How long since they last set foot in the Prime Material Plane?

It's not like _entering_ Shadowfell—ripping and tearing, the desire to _die_ , to _atone_ , to _hurt_ —but it's not too similar to slipping through the Crack to the Faewild either. More like tearing open hole in a wall of flesh and pure energy to escape.

It doesn't hurt that he's able to sense them, _within reason_. Something about being used as a _living portal_ unlocked that ability. Some mumbo-jumbo magic _bullshit_.

They push out—from black and grey and ashen white—into the plane beyond and the membrane gives way. They push through. They're free.

It smells of autumn.

_His skin is on fucking fire._

For the first time in a _long_ while, Hardwon hisses violently and tries to escape to flee to find safety. The rational ( _ha_ ) part of his brain turns off and all he can think about is darkness, shade, safety, get _somewhere_ , burning _burning **burning**_!

He can hear Bev and Moonshine calling out but he needs— _he needs_ —god the fucking pain is _so bad_ , even _dying_ didn't feel like this!

Thankfully, there are large trees, enhanced by a nudge of magic from Moonshine, and they provide cover. Dim light. _Safety_.

The pain lessens.

" _Fuck_ ," he says. His voice is raspy, torn. The animal noises he probably made must've just ripped his vocal chords right the fuck up. Fine. Okay. _Cool_.

He feels a pair of small hands on his side. He flinches, catching the worried look on Bev's face. The kid's hands are shaking, _hard_. "You okay?"

Something in him catches. _Bev_ , fucking bright kid, strong and smart, is looking at him like he's gonna fall apart in a stiff breeze. Bev is _worried for him_.

 _Again_.

He thought he'd been getting used to his new state of being. (Not _life_ , because that requires _living_. _He_ isn't, therefore _it_ isn't.)

The way Bev is treating him now, though, is _the worst._

" _Yeah_. Just...forgot s'all…," It's a lie. Convenient and kind. It's _fine_ though, coz they already did _so_ much for him. Killed Scarlett at risk of their own safety. Stormed the Montgomery manor with little-to-no backup. Wasted high level spells to keep him safe. Bled themselves to sate his hunger. "Hurts like a _bitch_ though. On par with the fucking, I dunno, R. Cane fire in Ezry."

"Won't be getting back your tan then, _huh_?" Bev's tone is light, fake _fake **fake**_ , and holy _fuck_ he hadn't realized how much of his cheer of late was a front. Was it like that for _Moonshine_ too? Or just Beverly? Were _any_ of them really okay? Did _any_ of them make it out of that unscathed?

" _Probably_ not." Hardwon tries to match the fake mirth. He's not too sure how well he does, but he _tries_ dammit. "Which is a damn shame. Worked hard on it. Fat lotta good _that_ did." A beat. "Thanks for the shade though. Forgot about the... _sun thing_ …"

" _Us too_ ," Moonshine admitted, also looking guilty, and he wants to cup her cheek because she shouldn't — shouldn't think this is _her_ fault, _her_ burden. _None_ of them should. But he holds back because he's suddenly _acutely_ aware of how cold his skin must feel, bloodless, pulse-free, waxen, as it presses against their own warmth. Balnor nods, _once_.

"This is a _pickle_ , isn't it?" Bev says, sitting down underneath the magically grown tree. He doesn't rest against Hardwon but he's close. Moonshine is on the other side of him, eyes scanning the path ahead of them. Balnor is already tearing into a tuna salad sandwich. "How do we get about from _here_ to where we need to go with _that_ limitation?"

"Not to mention _running water_ ," Moonshine says, staring at her hands. She must be thinking about drowning _each_ and _every_ last one of the Montgomery family in their crypt. Does it worry her that she had to do that? Does it worry her that she had to _force_ him to stay put just so they could travel about like this again?

" _And_ invitations," Balnor notes. _Oh yeah_. He needs to be _invited_ into places now. _Shit_.

"D'you think the person doing the invitation needs to be the _homeowner_ or can we wheel and deal our way around that one?"

" _How_?" Hardwon asks. The sandpaper quality of his voice is rapidly fading, skin healing up as well. It's uncanny and makes his skin crawl, _metaphorically_.

He isn't certain he'll _ever_ be used to it and, when the day comes, he'll probably be too far gone to be worried.

(It occurs to him, in this moment, that he's never gonna get any older. He's never gonna die unless he is killed or starves. Even then, it's gonna be a trial, and that _isn't_ a good thing. He, Hardwon Surefoot, is _functionally immortal_. He will outlive _everyone_ he loves. He may _never_ see Gemma. _Ever_.)

(He pushes that thought down _immediately_.)

"Like," Moonshine supplies, "one of _us_ gets in and invites you. Would _that_ count? Or would it need to be the person who holds dominion over the land?"

" _Concurrently_ ," Beverly adds, "in a place like the Crick, where personal property is lax and so is personal space, would an invitation even be _necessary_?"

"That is a _god_ damn fantastic question Bev." _It is_. It doesn't make him feel any better, but the fact that they're already joking about it alleviates the tension rolling in his gut. " _I_ …yanno, I don't _need_ to sleep." Hard fact number one. That meant that sharing a bed had been _wicked awkward_ for a bit but, they all knew that. "And I don't need to breathe either. _How much_ can the Bag hold?"

Balnor lights up. " _A lot_ , as far as I know! Though you _might_ want to clean up a bit. Do you _really_ think you'd be okay there, in the dark, for so long?"

He shrugs. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before." When they look at him in this _absolutely_ heartbreaking way, he clarifies. "I was a human kid raised _under a mountain_. Most of my life was spent in dark places for a _long_ time. They didn't always remember or _care_ that I couldn't see all that well." _Before I got goggles of night vision,_ he wants to say. _Before I gained darkvision by dying_ , he doesn't.

" _Oh_." _Fuck_. It doesn't work. Moonshine still looks pensive. Beverly is staring at his feet, the gray dust that coats them, wiggling his toes softly. Only Balnor seems to understand, his face set in his standard half-frown, ears still.

"Well _that_ sounds bunk," Beverly exclaims, shocking the three of them into stuttering laughter. _Only_ some of it is forced, but they lean together under the shade and just sit and plan.

According to a bit of mapping from Bev and asking around from Moonshine as well as a quick scouting mission for PawPaw, they're a couple miles north of the Watchtower. Not a long walk, all things considered, but one that's _mostly_ in the open. Once they reach the Galaderon Glades outside of the border, it'll be darker and Hardwon should be able to walk with them from that point on.

"Key word being _should_ ," Hardwon quips. It's met with dry silence. God _fucking_ dammit, just _laugh_. Pretend things are fine. _Fuck_.

They don't. It _sucks_.

"I _think_ ," Moonshine squints at Bev's map, drawing her words out long and slow, "we can reach the Glades in an hour or so and, by then the sun should be low enough that the shade of the trees will be good enough. You mind?"

She's asking him if he doesn't mind testing his pain tolerance. If the amount of sun would matter. To help find a good traveling system now that he would be _indisposed_ during the daylight hours. She's _asking_ though, and that matters.

" _Nah_. I figure a quick snack and I should be good to go if I gets too crispy." This joke gets a sensible chuckle. _Good_. "An hour isn't bad though. Can get some cleaning done in the Bag."

Balnor beams. It's a heartening feeling, being useful. _Especially_ now.

"Then let's do it to it! You ready?" Bev smiles. Hardwon nods. Balnor holds open the Bag and he steps in.

The Bag has _always_ been dark. It's always been a strange empty space where their shit just floats about in nothingness and, where before he would've been blind and his lungs would burn with the need to inhale, now he can see the pocket dimension in its entirety.

It's like swimming in a galaxy. If the portal to the Faewild had been verdant and spring and pollen incarnate; if the portal out of Shadowfell had been a membrane of flesh stretched over a tank of tepid water, leading to a warm autumn day; the Bag's pocket dimension was like laying back in a lake and stargazing. Colors he didn't know existed spun in paintbrush splatter spirals all around him. They glow softly, but not with light.

Around him, floating in controlled chaos that probably makes sense to _Balnor_ , are their things. Mementos, loot, and some trash. Orbiting around the strange _space-that-is-not-space_ , like a cosmic dance, is the history of their travels across Bahumia and the planes beyond.

Hardwon kicks, floating about in the bag like he's swimming, towards some of the detritus. Half-eaten tuna sandwiches, severed body parts, shredded bits of _something_ unidentifiable, and blood-stained items that would have _once_ been useful, but were _markedly_ less so. He herds them into one vague bubble of space and kicks back a bit to try and sort the rest. Treasure goes into the treasure blob, trophies go to the trophy blob, and then the miscellaneous blob is... _there_ …

It's hard to keep track of time. He isn't even aware that time _exists_ until a large bright area opens above his head and he slips out of the Bag into shade and safety. Hardwon squints at the general light situation and, against all odds, finds that the sunset doesn't seem to bother him under the heavy foliage of the Galaderon Glades.

"You aren't on fire," Hardwon jumps, having forgotten that the others were there.

" _Yeah_ ," he uses humor to mask his panic and knee-jerk desire to bite into, tear, _drain the threat of blood_. "That's at least _something_. _Oh_ , before I forget," he gestures for Balnor to give up the Bag. He does, for sure, but it takes a second. Hardwon reaches shoulder deep and retrieves the blob of trash he'd collected. "Did a _bit_ of clean-up."

"That is... _a lot_ ," Balnor notes. Moonshine just casts a quick spell and the whole thing goes up in acrid smoke. " _Thanks_."

Hardwon shrugs, eyeing the fire. "I didn't have much _else_ to do in there except maybe float around and ponder existing." He smiles, taking a sharp breath he knows he doesn't need—more out of habit and for effect than anything else—and nods to the Bag. "Also, it's oddly beautiful in there. Like swimming in _space_. Space with litter."

No one says anything. _It sucks._

"Plan is?" Hardwon prompts.

"Well, you aren't on fire _or_ in pain!" Beverly is oddly cheerful. Or, _no_ , wait. He's _faking_ cheerful. It's strange to think that's how life is now, the youngest of them has to smile and tell his elders that everything will be alright. And _that_...fucking sucks. (He's already worried about this, _hasn't_ he?) "But long or short term?"

"Let's keep it day to day for now."

"The Watchtower is the closest settlement that _definitely_ ain't under Thiala's thumb. Moving from here, from the Watchtower to Gladeholm, _might_ take a bit without the _Stormborn_ , but it's somethin', ain't it?" Moonshine gestures in the general direction of the Watchtower. "Tonathan should let us in no prob but from there it's a crapshoot I guess…"

"It's, what, a _week_ travel from the Watchtower to Gladeholm?" They're walking now, towards the general area of the Watchtower. Even after the fact, the illusion was _probably_ still up. The monks there are decent folks though, so they wouldn't _refuse_ them entry. It would be a place to regroup. "And Hill Holm after that is _another_ week or so?"

" _Give or take_ ," Beverly confirms. "Though Gladeholm is higher priority really."

" _Deadeye?_ " Hardwon asks. He doesn't want to sound so bitter, so upset, but he didn't spend as much time with Deadeye as the others did due to his... _situation_. So they have this _knowledge_ , this _experience_ that he _can't_ have, and he doesn't have the same attachment _they_ do to this Deadeye _they_ knew. The Deadeye _they_ watched _pass on_. _He_ just remembers the one who felt guilty about his... _undeath_. That's it.

" _Deadeye_ ," Moonshine confirms. Everyone else falls silent, _somber_.

"I mean," Beverly continues, chipper again, "I can always _write_ home but you need to chat up Mee Maw  _ASAP_!"

"Yeah…"

They fall silent again. The sound of evening insects and wind through autumn leaves are the only noise around them as Hardwon, Moonshine, Beverly, and Balnor trek onwards, mouths clamped shut. It hurts too much to talk, it seems, so they say nothing. _Par for the course_.

They never really talk about _anything_ serious, do they?

Like _dying_. Heritage. Betrayal. New natures. Faith. Fears. Guilt. Anger.

Just bottle it up until it becomes everyone's issue.

Like _always_.

_Like **always**._

The clearing where the Watchtower hides comes into focus. The illusion protecting it ripples and parts. The monks living there start at their appearance. Then they relax. Then they _don't_.

 _Oh yeah._ _There_ we go. _That's_ more what he's expecting from here on out. Not like Grimhawk was terribly _easy_ , visavis the whole vampire _steeze_ , but here, with people he _knows_ , it hurts more. Or, with people he saw before he _un_ -died, that is.

Hardwon flashes a weak grin, a little bit of fang, and waves. " _Sup_?"

Silent as always, the monks part as Tonathan comes bearing down on them. "Wow! _Hey_ guys! It's great to see you again! Howsit…" He cuts off, gaze catching on Hardwon, who tries his hardest to sink into the background. "... _oh_ …"

"We need a place to kick up our feet while we figure out the best route to Gladeholm. Can't travel same as we did before but we have a plan. Mind extendin' us an _invite_?" Moonshine doesn't say it's all for him but they know. _They all know._

(There is a brief flash of anger that flares through his limbs, burning bright and hard in his extremities. How fucking _dare_ they? How _dare_ they look at him like that?! Then, as soon as it comes up, the anger fades, leaving guilt in its wake. It's a surging wave and a riptide. His mouth floods with sticky sweetness and he's glad he has nothing in his stomach.)

"Y- _yeah_! Come on in!" Tonathan waves at them, patting the side of one of the silent monks. "The tower has been refurbished, actually! I think you'll like it!" So they follow.

Hardwon is acutely aware of _every_ eye on him. He can feel their gaze scrape his skin until it's as raw as when the sun burned it. He can feel their judgement, their holy derision, like fire lapping at the nape of his neck. He can feel them questioning his existence, his reason for being here.

He is acutely aware of the fact that _so much_ has changed.

Tonathan chatters on for a hot minute about books and rebuilding and how Thiala had _pretty much_ given up by the time the place was mildly liveable again. "Really," he says, waving one hand at intricately carved pillars of a rock from beneath Irondeep, "once the Watchman was dead—which, _by the way_ , remains the _coolest_ thing I've done _to date_ —she pretty much withdrew. Wasn't anything she wanted any more so no point in wasting the effort and troops I _guess_?" He doesn't meet Hardwon's eyes, opting to look up at Moonshine or level at Beverly, though his gaze lingers strangely on Balnor. "So what's _your_ story? Something - something _grand_ , I'm sure!"

"Flew from where you left us to Frostwind," Hardwon starts. This is _his_ part of the story, all things considered, so _he_ begins and they _let_ him. It's a small comfort.

"Oh! _Gemma_ , right?!" Tonathan catches Hardwon's wince and sucks air through his teeth. "I _mean..._ "

"Oh she _didn't_ marry him," he says with a sharp biting laugh, "she _died_. Him too." The soft inhale Tonathan makes is enough to slam the guilt back into him. So he soldiers on with the rest of the tale.

Frostwind (Hardwon) bleeds into the Faewild (Beverly) bleeds into Shadowfell (Moonshine), though there's cross commentary from all of them, Balnor included. When they get to Akarot, Tonathan is rapt, eyes wide as he memorizes every gory detail of the eye-stealer and the eyeless spies and the hollow bodies. At mention of Alanis, Tonathan lights up and presses them for every bit of info he can get, amazed they met _all three_ Saviours! He's an excellent audience, gasping with delight and falling deep into the emotion of the losses and _pain_ they experienced.

When they finish, sun already down, Tonathan is much more open and relaxed. No one else probably noticed, but Hardwon does. It isn't hard to miss, considering he's the one its unconsciously directed at.

Beverly is barely awake, stomach full of the monk's home grown food and eyelids heavy. Moonshine rolls her eyes in mock exasperation and hefts him up on her back, carrying him to the bed set aside for them. Balnor, groaning with each little movement, totters off to sleep as well. Then it's just Hardwon and Tonathan and _exactly_ three monks.

It's awkward in the _worst_ way.

He _hates_ it.

"Hey, _Hardwon_?" Tonathan speaks first, looking up at him.

" _Hm_?"

"You know that this isn't your fault, _don't_ you? The - the whole _travel_ thing. It's not like you _chose_ to be a vampire, _it just happened_!" He laughs, weak, a cover. It's comforting to know that Tonathan is more _socially awkward_ than he is afraid _of him_.

" _I_ —"

"And you don't need to be all-seeing to know that Beverly and Moonshine would do _anything_ for you. I mean, they fought _seven distinct_ Greater _and_ Elder vampires to make sure you had _free will_! If that's - if that's not _love_ then I don't know _what_ is!" His gaze, unbroken, is uncanny and piercing. Like he sees something _deeper_ than surface level. It's creepy but—

Though not much time has passed on the Prime Material Plane, Tonathan has come into his own. It's wild to see him so unnaturally perceptive—not that he _wasn't_ to begin with.

Hardwon swallows heavily— _an affectation_ , his mind traitorously adds, _that will fade with time_ —and forces a smile. "Of _course_ I do!" He _doesn't_. He blames himself _so much_. "You think I _don't_?"

" _Well_ ," Tonathan chews on his next couple of words, considering his options carefully, "I think that you're _only_ human— _give or take_ —and people tend to _wallow_ if given time. Since you've got more time to be awake and more time to be around, you've got more time to _wallow_. Be - be _stuck in your own head_ , if you will. Talk to someone or it'll only get _worse_ , is what I'm going for."

It's true, but he shouldn't say it.

Hardwon doesn't have the control to stop himself this time.

"I think you should watch your _fucking_ tongue, before I _take it from you_ ," he hisses, fangs bared in the harsh reading light. How _dare_ this fucking parasite talk back?! Does he not know his _place_?! Does he forget how _fragile_ he is?!

(Should I _remind_ him? Show him that he's _only vermin_?)

As soon as the venom spills forth, as soon as Tonathan's eyes dilate in fear, as soon as he's done speaking, the anger fades again.

_Again._

And when the red recedes, leaving pale and washed out flesh and cold stone, it takes the little bit of comfort Hardwon had been feeling with it.

He _runs_. He doesn't look back.

He'll be back before dawn, sure, but _now_?

Now he needs to be an animal for a little bit.

It's _easier_ to forget in the dark.


	2. What the Darkness Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I have seen what the darkness does_   
>  _(Say goodbye to who I was)_   
>  _I ain't never been away so long_   
>  _(Don't look back, them days are gone)_   
>  _Follow me into the endless night_   
>  _(I can bring your fears to life)_   
>  _Show me yours and I'll show you mine_   
>  _(Meet me in the woods tonight)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a little longer than I thought. It's no less incredible -- because I am incredible -- but it took much longer than I wanted it to.
> 
> I made a comment to fangirlsftw but like, I see the point of Deadeye picking his name in the same vein of trans folks picking their names so, unless we're ever told it, I will not deadname Deadeye. So, until there's a canon name for the boy before Shadowfell, we don't fucking ask.
> 
> I love that the liveshow was non-canon. I KNEW Hardwon and co wouldn't be that chill about him being a vampire. I KNEW IT. I feel so vindicated. (Also, I'm so sad Murph doesn't get to use the mirror trap. It would've been so good.)

It's _strange_ , ain't it? Being back on the Prime Material Plane after all that shit? But they are. And it is.

Moonshine doesn't know how to feel most days. It's hard enough to be the pillar, the smiles, the heart, when they're all hurting normally.

This isn't _normal_ hurt.

Hardwon is _struggling_. They figured he would but it's _so much worse_ than they assumed and, worse still, nothing seems to be changing. He's listless and keeps trying for laughs and smiles at his expense. He lashes out and then folds in on himself. He's drowning in guilt and it's obvious to everyone but himself.

She can't do a damn thing about it either.

At least they figured out the eating thing early on. Between her own druidic skills and a modified version of Find Steed that her 'n Bev cooked up, Hardwon never really gets to a point where combat becomes temptation. And that's good.

They only got to witness it once and it was... _difficult_ to say the least.

(He spent _so_ much time in the Bag that day. Breathless, dark and dense, he likened it to sleeping. Or _death_. He laughed, _not jubilantly_ , and fell silent again. It was too similar to early Balnor for any of them to be comfortable with it, staring off into the middle distance.)

Then there's _Beverly_. Sweet, kind Bev who is struggling with not only his own feelings about decisions they made, but something else he won't talk about. It becomes a distance in his gaze, not _as far_ as Balnor's had been or Hardwon's is, but _close_.

He's too young to feel that way. Fucking dumbshit brain-foolery. Needs to _stop_.

And Balnor is... _Balnor_. He isn't much different—more capable, more sure, more _present_ , yeah—but there's _something_. Moonshine's sure of it.

But that's not the biggest issue, _is it_?

Coz they're almost there. Gladeholm. Where the Crick folk are camping outside of the High Elf city, waiting to be let in.

Where Mee Maw and Ol' Cobb are gonna be told about Deadeye. Where Moonshine herself might seek answers 'bout her daddy.

Where she's gonna hafta decide how she wants to go about this. Kind and hospitable —

—or as accusatory and angry as she _really_ feels?

And that's the rub, ain't it? Coz she _wants_ to be kind. She wants to run to her Mee Maw and hug her _something fierce_. She wants to ask about Jveliin and his crew, about the trip and the High Elf fuckers, about what she's been up to. But she also wants to yell and scream and kick up one _helluva_ ruckus.

That's childish though, _yeah_?

( _Hasn't she earned a little childishness?_ )

She pushes the thought away.

Between traveling light during the day and longer at night—shifting their own schedules more to what Hardwon can handle visavis sun and the like—and the very handy spelled compass Tonathan lent them, they're maybe about two days out of Gladeholm and, _by transitive association_ , the Crick folks.

Moonshine isn't ready and, if the rest can see that, they don't say nothing.

( _It ain't right, considering she bears their burdens as well._ )

She shoves that thought off too.

(She's been having to do that a lot, lately. Shove down shitty thoughts. It's frustrating to be at war with your own nature, but she understands.)

(Doesn't mean she _likes_ it though…)

Sun's looking to come up in three, _maybe_ four hours when they finally set down to put up camp. The large stretch of woods they've been using as half-cover on their journey is thickening with every step deeper and deeper in. It may come that they start traveling as a whole group again under the darkness of the canopy.

"Gladeholm," Tonathan had said before they left the Glades, "is hidden as well as we are. _Though_ ," he added, "not in the same way. As you might know, the High Elves are more of a nature oriented people than, well, the monks here so _probably_ druids?"

When Beverly gave him a grin and arched a single eyebrow—an expression he spent a _long time_ practicing by imitating Hardwon, no matter how much the two would _vehemently_ deny it—Tonathan rolled his eyes and sighed. " _To be fair_ ," he whined, "there isn't _much_ written on them. But I have a way to _kinda_ know where they should be and, if Alanis is right—which she _probably_ is—then they're right outside. You shouldn't even need to bother with their defenses unless you want to gain entry to the hidden city."

The campfire flickers, warm hues bathing everyone as they lean against various trees. Moonshine lets out a long breath and smiles. " _Whoo-ee_. Damn fine meal." She had made a simple stew of the steed Bev summoned for Hardwon, making sure to use watery vegetables to compensate for the more dry meat that Hardwon didn't eat. It's delicious and it's one of the ways they'd been working on some semblance of normality.

Does it work? _Not really_. Not like she _wants_ it to. But it doesn't matter, coz she's _trying_ , ain't she? _Aren't they?_

"Yeah. I _think_ I'm getting better about picking the right type of steed." Beverly nods at Hardwon, who's already picked the bloody mess out of his beard. "Deer do it for you?"

He smiles—only his mouth, his eyes far-off and sad—and nods. "Tastes better than horse and I don't have to worry about fur in my teeth like dire wolf so I'd say it's _about_ as good as it gets right now. _Thanks_ , kid." He flashes another smile and Bev smiles back, ears quivering slightly.

It's _weird_ , she realizes, _knowing_ something is different and being unable to put it to words. She knows that Beverly is faking, is smiling for all their sakes, but she knows _he_ knows _they_ know. She knows Hardwon is pretending everything is fine because if he _doesn't_ , he may break down. She _also_ knows he _doesn't_ know they know. She knows that Balnor is the best out of all of them and that's _not saying much_. She knows he's hurting but hes putting himself last, like he always does, and it _sucks_. She _hates_ it.

She can't find the words to tell them this so she holds on to it, deep inside, and promises herself she won't forget.

And they laugh, they pretend, and they sleep.

Hardwon, eyes glowing faintly in the low light, keeps watch. He doesn't join them. He seems almost adverse to physical contact as opposed to before, when he sought it out with wild abandon.

( _He thinks_ , her mind supplies, _that he won't be able to control himself. He thinks_ , she rationalizes, _that he might hurt us if he gets too close._ )

It _hurts_.

 _She_ hurts.

They're all hurting.

Morning is when she gets up and does some early yoga, watching Hardwon with a wary eye as he tests the shade around them. He notices her staring and sinks in on himself so she ducks her head.

"Come join in!" Her cheer is fake. Her smile is fake. Her intent is _wholly_ selfish.

"I don't think I _need_ it?" He sounds unsure. She rolls her eyes.

"I mean, _physically_? Probably not. But it does the mind good to just relax. 'Sides," she winks and folds into downward dog, "you 'n I got time t'kill and it won't hurt to limber up anyway."

He pauses. She can see his crimson eyes flicker from the patchy sunlight that filters through the leaves to where she is. With a soft smile—and she considers it a victory because it's not _just_ his mouth, his posture relaxes and he lets out a light laugh—he gestures for her to move with an eyebrow waggle. "Let's limber up then. Lead the way."

Together, before anyone else is up, they run through several positions. Slow and languid, hard to hold, and simple ones in cycles. By the time everyone else is up, they're just sitting and enjoying the dark cover of the forest. It's nice, for a moment, to feel _normal_.

Then, Beverly still rubbing sleep out of his eyes and Balnor having packed up camp without asking for anyone to help, they trek onward. In spots where the sun gets too strong, Hardwon hops in the Bag with little complaint and, as has been the pattern this whole time, informs Balnor of whatever changes he makes to the Bag's dimensional organization whenever he returns.

He seems lighter today.

( _It won't last and she knows it._ )

Moonshine pushes that thought down.

"While I'm takin' care of things on my end, what're _y'all_ gonna do?" She asks, hopping over a fallen tree covered in a species of mushrooms she remembers seeing near the Crick.

"Just planned on maybe kicking my feet up and taking a breather," Balnor admits. "The food and drink you all have is pretty solid and, if I'm being _honest_? I _kinda_ miss Crick water." He cracks a soft, angled smile.

( _He's not being honest._ )

Down. _Down_.

"Figured I'd check in on the Crickiteers! See what all they're up to!" Beverly clambers over the log and dusts off his pants once he's cleared it. "Since the Green Teens is so regulatory, I think it's an interesting experience to discover what a somewhat rogue faction of moderately undisciplined kids might get up to in an organization like this!" He beams, faint light glinting off his braces.

"Fucking _nerd_ ," Hardwon ribs fondly. Beverly let's out a cry of false indignance and lightly socks him in the upper thigh. " _Ner-rd_ ," Hardwon repeats and dodges the next attack with a dexterous flourish.

As they spar, bare-fisted— _or_ , as Hardwon dances just out of reach of Beverly's wild fists—Moonshine realizes Hardwon is avoiding answering the question.

She doesn't want to push but she does.

"And _you_ , Hardwon?" She asks, aware how pointed her tone is. "What's your plan?"

She sees him freeze. She sees Beverly almost bloody his nose on Hardwon's immovable form. She sees his face.

 _Panic_. His pupils are black slits in crimson. He clenches his jaw, the muscles moving beneath the skin as he tries to figure out what he wants to say.

She's put him on the spot.

( _Good._ )

Push it down.

"I was... _considering_ seeing Ol Cobb," he says, slowly, through gritted teeth, "but you can take care of your thing first. Figure the younguns might not take offense to...they'd be _easier_ anyway so…"

( _They won't mind that I'm a vampire as much as the adults might._ )

"You can have him first," Moonshine concedes, "I really only need Mee Maw, t'be honest?"

He doesn't laugh like she wants, moving back in line behind Balnor and everyone else. "Sounds good."

The rest of the trip is silent and she hates that it's _all her fault_. Or, not her fault so much as it is a product of harder things that she had a part in. But she clams up and soldiers on.

The Crick elves are just partying up a storm. It's not hard to find the large, loud collective of people standing outside what looks to be a huge empty glade and that's _exactly_ what the fuck is going on. Crawfish boils, cauldron of stew, bags of younguns, small fires, the whole place already feels like home, which is very much a Crick elf standard of living.

As the four of them crest over a small knoll, one of the older Petris starts hollering something fierce. " _Moonshine 'n her folks are back!_ "

The resounding cheer is deafening. Hardwon, whose hearing is _infinitely_ more sensitive now, flinches.

Beverly grins wide and looks up at Hardwon and Moonshine, who give him a nod of " _sure, fucking go for it"_. With a soft whoop, he takes off at full-tilt, waving at everyone he meets.

Balnor ambles forward, as he does, with a content smile and relaxed posture. He seems happier now, in a place where there is no immediate danger, and easily finds himself a group of older elves to chat up and eat with.

In the distance, proud as ever, Moonshine sees Mee Maw, MawMaw, and Ol Cobb. Ol Cobb cups a hand over his eye and, upon seeing them, waves aggressively. Mee Maw, meanwhile, just remains where she stands. Moonshine waves Hardwon forward.

"Do your thing, Hardwon. I'll _just_...say hi to the others." He tentatively looks at her, then to Ol Cobb, then back to her. When she nods at him again, he darts off and leaves Moonshine alone with her thoughts.

She's _not_ gonna talk about her daddy. There's no point to it. She is gonna ask about Jveliin because she _kinda_ wants to know more about that beautiful, _beautiful_ boy who sacrificed himself for a youngun. And, of course, she's gonna ask about and pass on the info about Deadeye.

As she _finally_ approaches, having greeted half a dozen different Crick folks—bullywogs and elves alike—Hardwon and Ol Cobb are done chatting and Hardwon's eyes are watery and puffy. Now he's crouched down in a kneeling position in front of MawMaw, who is happily greeting her champion.

"You have been through _so_ much," MawMaw says, reverent as always, "and yet you are here. In _one piece_ , if not changed, and for the _better_." Hardwon doesn't make more than a soft noise, a stifled sob. "I am _proud_ to call you my champion."

" _Thank you,_ " is all he gets out before he starts to shake, finally letting it all out. MawMaw curls herself around him, pressing her forehead against his and letting out a low chittter.

Mee Maw smiles at Moonshine, striding forward to wrap her in a hug that Moonshine leans wholly into. "Moonshine! It's a _damn_ fine delight to see you!"

Moonshine lets out a muffled laugh into Mee Maw's shoulder. It's a _damn_ fine delight to see her too.

"You and your lot have changed up, haven't you?" It's a statement. Moonshine nods. "I bet you have _all_ sorts of stories."

"It's _part_ of why we're here, really," Moonshine admits. "Because I've got a story for _you_."

Mee Maw pulls away and gazes into Moonshine's face. There is maternal adoration there, warmth and sunshine. She wants to drown in it. Stay there forever.

She _can't_.

"Well let's grab a stump and chat, huh?"

"You, me, and Ol Cobb," Moonshine confirms.

Ol Cobb, who until now has been watching Hardwon with a warm fondness—broken only by the frown creasing his brow—looks up. " _Hm?_ "

"Come chat with me. We've got to hash some shit out."

Their walk to a stump isn't long but it feels that way. Moonshine's head is buzzing a million miles an hour. How much does she say? How much does she ask? Does she accuse or listen? Should she be mad for him or take his final moments into account?

It's _hard_ , she realizes, having to make these decisions. It's hard to be an _adult_.

When they _do_ sit down—MawMaw off galavanting about with the younguns and Hardwon, Beverly talking up his Crickiteers, and Balnor putting his feet up—it's not _unkind_ silence. It's warm, maternal. She doesn't know what to do with herself. With her hands. She twiddles her thumbs.

Mee Maw smiles patiently. Ol Cobb as well. It's like nothing's changed.

" _D'you_ —?" Moonshine begins, stammering over her thoughts. She begins again, "D'you remember a Crick—back before _I_ was around—' _bout_ the time of Marabelle? Wanted t'learn t'shoot? _Fight_? Asked _you_ ," pointed, she looks at Ol Cobb, who has gone stiff, "to train him. And you said _no_?"

Their mouths set into thin lines. The warmth doesn't leave their eyes but it retreats. Embers in a pit. She ain't gonna ask for his name then, but she's gonna keep going.

"He sold his soul for the skill to fire a gun and y'all turned him away. _I don't blame you_ ," she adds, trying to make them feel better. They don't relax, but _she_ feels better about it, "if he'd've had the wherewithal to fight against Marabelle then, it'd've gone _terribly_. But he sold his soul and he left. _Wandered_. Then he shot himself in the head testing a gun in Ezry and woke up dead."

" _How d'you—?_ " Ol Cobb leans forward, eye wild. His voice cracks, is it _fear_? _Hope_? She doesn't know.

"He went by _Deadeye_ when we met him in Shadowfell. _Grimhawk_ , to be exact." She doesn't let her sorrow, her anger, taint his story. She keeps her voice level. She sets her jaw. She soldiers on. "He was a crack-shot and a steady hand. Two guns: Luanne and Reba, both _just_ as powerful. He'd been there for who knows how long, but that's not important. What's important is what he did when we got there."

She takes a moment to breathe. _In. Out._ Pass his message on. Do it _do it **do it**_ **.** She pulls Handy Andy out of her bib and sets him in her lap. Mee Maw and Ol Cobb shy away, wary gazes never leaving him. She gives them a smile-adjacent thing.

"Saved me n' Hardwon n' Bev from the shadows. Took us in. Told us about his prison. He couldn't leave Grimhawk and he didn't know how long he'd been there, only that it had been long enough that he'd started to rot." They hiss, deflate. She soldiers on. "He _needed_ help and we _helped_ him. He _lied_ to us and Hardwon _died_ but we didn't let up. He was my _brother_ and I couldn't bear to see him like that, pushing everyone 'way coz he was afraid. In the end _he_ —" Her breath catches and she stops and starts. Handy Andy strokes his thumb over the back of her hand in small circles. Soothing and slow.

It's a small comfort. "—he helped us _save_ Hardwon. He helped us kill a family of vampires that had Grimhawk on lock. They were both the same goal in the end, but he _did_ it. And when it was done, _all he wanted to do_ was see the Crick again. He wanted to _feel_ again. He wanted to break his contract." She swallows. They don't meet her eyes and that's— _that's—?_

They don't meet her eyes and she doesn't blame them too much.

"We _broke_ it. He went free."

"And _where_ —?"

Moonshine cuts off Mee Maw. "His contract was what was animatin' him. When it broke, he got to die, _peacefully_. Got to see the Crick before he headed off to Melora or whatever waited for him after all this. So...he's _gone_. He's gone and I promised that I'd let y'all know that his name was Deadeye and he was a _damn fine Crick_ right to the end."

She can hardly see through the tears blurring her vision. The world is swimming and, despite the comforting weight of Handy Andy on her hand and the warmth of PawPaw nuzzling her face, she feels unmoored.

 _Detached_ , she floats about in her own memory. She drifts from one piece of Deadeye to another. It _hurts_ and it _doesn't_.

She sobs, caught off guard.

Two pairs of arms wrap around her. One set is thin and wiry, smelling of gunpowder and tobacco. The other is thicker, smelling more of warm dirt and wet grass. Both envelop her in love and affection.

"I _never knew_ what happened to him." Mee Maw whispers. Her voice cracks, catching rough on the pronoun, like she wants to say something else but doesn't. "I thought he _died_. I thought he let himself get swallowed up by that blackness in his soul and we'd _lost_ him."

"He wanted to come home _so bad_. He wanted to see y'all _so bad_. He just didn't know _how_. He'd lost himself in the fog and shadows." Her reply is soft as well. It feels like it would be blasphemous somehow to speak louder.

"I thought he _hated_ me. Wanted me dead." Ol Cobb is weeping, silent shudders jittering through him. "I thought I'd _ruined_ him. _Killed_ him."

"Prophecy said a bullet from a Crick would do him in," she says, "and it was _his own_. He stopped hating you after a while. Just didn't seem right after it all."

They silently sat there, embracing, remembering.

She could ask about Jveliin later. Now was _this_.

Now was Deadeye.

Her debt was repaid.

Onwards and upwards, then.

After this: _Hill Holm_.

Because _Beverly_ deserved this closure, too.

( _It's a pity Hardwon can't have the same._ )

Down.

Push it down.

Push it down and _move on._


	3. Stranger Than My Own Worst Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How long, baby, have I been away?_   
>  _Oh, it feels like ages though you say it's only days_   
>  _There ain't language for the things I've seen, yeah_   
>  _And the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have been trying to get this done and it eluded me well into the end of the fucking Mage Madness arc. Damn thing fought me harder than the second chapter of Antipaladin!Bev did. But it's done. Thank fuck.
> 
> So, as of, uh, the end of Shadowfell (episode 69—nice—to be exact) this is jossed to fuck and back but it's good to have finished it. It's a character exploration anyway. It was always gonna be vaguely AU.
> 
> This one got a little long. Okay, so it actually doubles the whole story length. Sorry. Or, not, actually, as this is a lot of work and I am very proud of it. Devour and feel pain, my darlings. As I post this, episode 74 dropped. I refused to listen until I had posted. A reward, if you will. It worked. Here ya go. 3.5K written in 12ish hours.
> 
> (I'm going to see the Atlanta live show so wml. You may hear me in the audio when it's released, screaming excitedly before I throw down with Murph for hurting my feelings by hurting my boy. Cheaper than flying to LA, that's for sure. But the Deck has me worried so...it is what it is...)
> 
> Warning: anxiety attacks, paranoia, guilt complex.

Beverly doesn't want to complain but—

—he's _tired_.

It's not _just_ the constant expenditure of spell slots to keep Hardwon sated. It's not _just_ the walking for days and days _and_ _days_. It's not _just_ putting on a smile every time that Moonshine or Hardwon or Balnor looks his way. It's not _just_ worrying about his mom and what he's going to say to her when he sees her.

 _It's all of it_. All of it _and then some_.

It's the guilt he's holding on to about Erlin. It's the worry about Hardwon, who has expressed an innate desire to die. It's the underlying voice in his head that tells him he's at fault for what's happening to his dad. It's the fear of making one wrong movement and accidentally causing this carefully constructed lie he's built around himself to collapse.

Bev has built a house of cards around himself and it's getting harder each day to keep it from coming down around his ears.

And it's ruining his sleep schedule and souring his stomach.

They're about one and a half days out from Hill Holm when he really starts to worry. Even if he's still himself, even if he's still _Beverly_ , there's been so much going on! What if the home get gets to isn't the one he left? What if his mom is disappointed in him? What if he gets dumped (rightfully) for cheating? What if there's nothing left; Hill Holm has been razed to the ground. What if— _what if_ —?!

He doesn't even notice he's fallen until the buzzing whine in his ears fades enough for him to hear someone calling his name. Many someones calling his name. Moonshine and Hardwon and Balnor all are crying out and he can feel his pulse in his teeth, which is _weird as all get-out_. When he _can_ make sense of it, the noise condenses into worried clamor, and from there it becomes words.

" _Breathe_. Just breathe in Bev. Inhale, hold, exhale. _Listen to us_. Inhale, hold, exhale." Moonshine's voice is the loudest and that's what Beverly holds tight to, like a life raft. _Inhale, hold, exhale_.

The world above him comes back into focus and he can see Hardwon, smoking slightly, under the shade of Druidiclaly influenced trees. Balnor has a waterskin in his hands, already open and offered to him. Moonshine is knelt down, eye-level with him, and is using her hands to mimic the movement of air as she coaches him through breathing.

All of this is viewed through a watery curtain of panic-induced tears.

"You okay? You here buddy? You breathing?" Balnor asks.

"Inhale, hold, exhale." Moonshine continues.

" _Fuck, fuck, **fuck, fuck**_ ," Hardwon mutters, though not in anger or pain, just fear for Beverly.

 _Oh_. Of _course_ he broke down and made everyone stop. Of _course_ his inability to keep control caused his friends distress. Now they were going to have to wait while Hardwon healed up and set up camp. He was going to have to find something for Hardwon to eat and that was already exhausting enough _without_ him needing to patch up. And then they'd be several hours off course and that meant that they were now _two_ days out of Hillhome and— _and— **and—!**_

He's crying.

" _I'm sorry_ ," he manages to get out before continuing to sob incoherently. "I'm _sorry_..."

"It's _fine_ ," Moonshine says.

" _You're good_ ," Hardwon says.

"Take your time," Balnor says.

But they don't _mean_ it, do they? They're just like him, lying to save face. Lying because it's easier than the truth. Lying to help themselves feel better.

It takes a few minutes of rehydrating and breathing before he feels safe standing. The ground is warm beneath his feet, the sun already soaking into the dirt and grass, and it's almost disingenuous how nice it feels. And even though he still feels faint, still feels weak, still feels _stupid_ , he nods at Moonshine and Balnor—Hardwon already in the Bag—in confirmation. They _need_ to keep moving. They need to reach Hill Holm soon.

So they trek on and he buries the anger and frustration and tears deeper and deeper down. He swallows his thoughts and sings little songs to bolster morale. He pretends like he's not disappointed when they finally stop to camp in a shady wooded area.

They don't light a fire. With their schedule being more nocturnal than diurnal now, there's no need for their camps to have fires. Plus, save for meals for Hardwon, the rest of them were content eating foraged berries and trail rations. No need to cook anything.

Beverly sleeps fitfully. It's been a hot minute since he's had any sort of simple, quiet dreams—if he had to pin the last one down date-wise, it was _around_ the fall of Galaderon—and tonight is no different. There are flashes of colors and shapes. Faces in screams, frozen in time and red-brown rust-blood. Sneers and spit insults, rejection and glass shattering. Hills on fire. Dying. _Everyone he loves is dead._

He wakes up with a panicked scream trying to claw its way out his throat. He chokes it down and curls in on himself and tries not to cry. And when his heart rate finally slows, he stands up and moves on.

He doesn't have time to be sad, to break down, to fall apart. There are bigger things at stake than his emotional well-being. And no one else gets to feel good, so _why should he_? No one else has time to feel sad about things, so neither should he.

They continue on and, if Moonshine or Balnor or Hardwon notice his attitude or his mood, they say nothing. Before long, as the moon is starting to sink on the horizon, the lights of Hill Holm crest over a particularly shallow hill. They're only a little ways away.

He has to make a decision soon.

Setting up camp now is a simple and easy routine. Moonshine bends sticks into a lean-to, using standard Crick barchitecture to make something sturdy and dry. Balnor usually finds a halfway decent watch point for him or Hardwon to sit on. And Beverly himself tends to forage and find food as well as summon something for Hardwon to eat. They all have parts to play. It's a comforting ritual.

When they finally settle in, food in their stomachs and eyes heavy, Moonshine tries for small-talk. "You excited to be home?" It is, of course, the _wrong_ question to ask.

 _No_ , he wants to say. _I'm scared because **I've** changed so much and I'm worried nothing has changed there. That **I'm** the one that's broken. I'm terrified because I have to tell my mom that dad's not coming home **ever again**. I'm **tired** of feeling like this and I'm sure that dealing with it **won't** make these feelings go away but also I can't talk about it because **everyone** is hurting and I don't want to be a burden._

Instead he smiles, a wide and fake smile, ears set still as he grins, and says, " _Yeah_! It'll be nice to see my mom and all the people I grew up with!" _The ones that **survived** the fire at Galaderon; that **didn't** go on to live in the Faewild._ "Plus it's gonna be good to taste some good home cooking again; _no offense_ , Moonshine!"

She seems to buy it, her own ears flicking more neutral as she chuckles. " _None taken_. I'm sure that, were I in your armor, I'd be missin' my Mee Maw's home cookin' too. Far too sweet for me, but to each their own."

"You excited to see _Erlin_ again?" Hardwon needles, eyebrow raised in sly understanding.

_No. **Terrified** , actually. He'll have **every right** to hate me after I tell him what I did. And, right now, he's the **only** thing I have to look forward to and I ruined **that** too. It's not fair for me to make that **his** problem, my emotions and all, but I can't help but be **selfish** and **cruel**._

" _Very much so_ ," he lies. "I have _so_ much to tell him."

 _That_ gets a reaction. Hardwon looks at Moonshine, whose gaze flickers between looking at him and looking back at Beverly. Their mouths are thin lines, eyebrow set low over worried eyes.

"You, _uh_ , gonna be _okay_?" Hardwon probes.

_**Of course** they'd be worried. You did tell them about feeling that way during a powwow. You admitted to consider it **cheating**. You said you felt bad about it._

" _Yeah_. I mean," Bev fakes a smile, chest clenching tight around the pain and hollowness of a lie told a thousand times an hour, "It's scary but I have to do it. _He deserves that much._ "

After that, the small-talk peters out and Beverly lets sleep take him to blissful unconsciousness. The world disappears behind the weight of sopor. He doesn't dream that night.

(Or, that too is a _lie_. He dreams of his dad, backlit by raging fires, standing in front of a lake of molten rock. His eyes are dull and hollow, red glowing in the centers of them. His armor is jet and onyx and bloodstone, all black and red and rot. His hands hold tight to a large blade that sings of pain and suffering. He turns, sees Beverly in this dream place, and speaks.)

(He considers it no small mercy that he doesn't remember what was said to him in this dream. He's certain it was _awful_. He's certain he wouldn't have the courage to go on if he _remembered_.)

They pack up and head forward. No sense in dallying now. Not when their last stop is so close. With every step closer and closer to Hill Holm—Hardwon in the Bag as the woods thin out and he has less cover with each passing moment—Beverly's heart threatens to rip from his chest and spill out his mouth. He swallows it down, though, and forces a brace-filled smile for everyone's sakes.

_Mom or Erlin. Who do I want to disappoint **first**? **Mom** or **Erlin**?_

The thoughts chase themselves around in his head as they crest into Hill Holm proper and finally see the first of the refugees from Galaderon.

Pity it's _Denny_ though.

" _Hey_ all!" The nasally cry of Denny Pebblepot catches all their attention as he casually walks out from the enclosed porch of the mayor's house.

 ** _Right_** , Beverly thinks with no small amount of visceral disgust, _the mayor of Hill Holm is a **Pebblepot**._

Denny looks well-fed for someone who avoided burning alive in an attack on their homes by a self-proclaimed goddess. His cheeks are round and full and his shirt fits a little snug. For _some_ reason, this sets Bev's hackles up. "Welcome to Hill Holm! You done with whatever it is that you were doing?"

"Not _really_ ," Moonshine says. Even _her_ patience wears thin around the Pebblepots. It's a small comfort. "But this is the _latest_ stop of _many_. _Where's Martha_?"

"Missus Toegold?" Denny tilts his head in fake confusion—and Bev _knows_ it's fake because he can see the same way that the Bear Prince brushed off his crimes in the way Denny Pebblepot asks them a stupid question—and points to Bev. " _You_ should remember where she is?"

" _Fuck off, Denny_ ," is Moonshine's curt response. They push past him before he can say another word and, with a hint of satisfaction, leave him protesting behind them. Not _loudly_ or _too hard_ , mind you, as he _is_ a Pebblepot and they're inherently craven and toothless bastards, but he does protest a _bit_.

Balnor looks around at Hill Holm and asks, " _This_ is where you live?"

A wash of guilt slams into Beverly again. _Right_. Balnor comes from a line of halflings who were born in the Faewild. He's never seen a legitimate Bahumian halfling community. This is something he never got to experience because of something Beverly did.

" _Only_ during the summer. My family is, _um_ , kinda _rich_." It's almost physically painful to be so dismissive but if he answers honestly, Bev is _certain_ that the dam he's built will break and he'll fall apart. He can't afford that. Not so close to his mom. To Erlin. To the reckoning. "So this is _more_ of a vacation spot? Now that Galaderon is gone, though, it's become _permanent_ , I guess."

" _Huh_." Balnor doesn't say anything else, just takes in the sights with a silent contemplation.

It isn't long before the Toegold home comes into view and Beverly has to physically dig his fingers into his arm to keep from running full-tilt to his mom. He needs to be strong. He needs to be smart. He can't afford to be childish about this.

(Even if he is a child.)

( _It's not fair_.)

They approach the front door of the small hill-home and Bev stops with his feet on a hand-woven doormat that says "Toegold" in shaky embroidery. One of his earlier Green Teen projects. He has to bite back a sob.

They don't even have to knock though. Martha Toegold throws the door open and launches herself at her son, who catches her and staggers a little under her weight.

(When did he become able to carry that weight? When did his mother's shaking form become a light burden to bear?)

She's crying. "I'm so glad to see you safe and home! _My baby boy_! I'm so, _so glad_ you're _back_!"

Beverly lets some of the pressure off the dam and cries with her. He says nothing, too certain he wouldn't have the wherewithal to stop talking if he started, but sobs into her shoulder as she rubs his back in small, concentric circles.

"I'm so glad you're _safe_!"

" _Me too_ , mama." He manages to choke out.

"I was so _worried_!"

" _I know_ , mama."

" _I'm_ _just_ —I'm so, _so—!_ " She breaks off and chokes on a sob. Beverly hugs her tighter and she cries.

He can feel Moonshine's eyes on him. Balnor's too. They're watching this wholly intimate moment and it feels both voyeuristic and right. He shouldn't get to have private happiness when no one else does.

When he finally lets go, rubbing his eyes clear, his mom is staring at him with pride and joy. "Come on in, you. I'll make some stickybuns and we can talk."

" _Before_ all that though!" Moonshine checks the light situation and encourages a couple large sunflowers to put on some extra inches before gesturing to Balnor, who lets Hardwon out of the Bag and into the shade beneath the large plants. "Give us that one again?"

 _Oh_. **_Yeah_**.

 _Another_ thing they figured out during their travels is that the person inviting Hardwon in has to be someone with a claim to the land. So this invite had to be from a Toegold. There were only two of them left; both standing there, silent.

(That experiment hadn't been fun for the person whose home they squatted in. They did apologize but the damage was done, and it's _probably_ hard to get the smell of burning vampire flesh out of the woodwork.)

Confused, Martha Toegold nods and gestures at them. "Come on in. Let's get you fed and hear what you've been up to. I'm _sure_ you've got stories to spare."

The dining room of Beverly's childhood vacation home feels oddly  _small_. He can remember being little—well, little- _er_ —and chasing Erlin and Cran and Durlin around and under the table, climbing over chairs like they were mountains. Now it feels... _stifling_ , almost. Compared to the vastness of the wild, a fine dining room is just a room. Finite and horrifyingly confining.

The four of them pile into the dining room and grab chairs. Moonshine grabs a chair in the middle so she can see everyone. Hardwon snags one away from the window facing out. Beverly sits next to his mom's normal seat. Balnor picks one closest to the door, Bag within easy grabbing distance. Beverly feels a small, selfish sense of relief that he's not the only one still on edge.

Martha bustles back in with a tray of warmed up stickybuns and tea, a pitcher of thick cream and a bowl of sugar cubes nearby for maximum customization. Then she sits down, tray within reaching distance of everyone and folds her hands on the table. " _So_?" Her voice is metered and soft. Her ears quiver slightly.

It's times like this that Bev is glad he's a halfling. Elves have emotive ears, gnomes have their tails, drow have both, but halfling ears don't move much, so he can hide his anticipation and anxiety and fear with a well placed smile and a tilt of the head.

" _So_?" Beverly asks, pretending he doesn't know what she wants. He stirs two lumps of sugar in his tea and takes a sip. It's cloyingly sweet and makes his teeth hurt. _Perfect_.

"Tell me _everything_ , honey. How have you been? What all have you done? _Did you find him_?" Her voice breaks, repressed worry coming out through choked words. Moonshine's ears flick down and Hardwon breaks eye contact.

Right off the bat, then? _Fine_.

Not like it would've been any easier otherwise.

" _Well_..." _How to **best** break this? How to spin this pain? Do I tell her the whole of it or let her believe he died?_ "We went to the Faewild after we left Frostwind. Frostwind was after the Crick, which was where we went after we made sure you were safe so _there's_ the order of things." Each word Beverly says is slow and careful. Each syllable pronounced with precision and craft. Any stray emotion has to be reigned in. He has to tell her _enough_ of the truth to take off the edge. "There's a...time dilation between the Faewild and the Prime Material Plane and, while it's only been a few months for us, almost twenty five years have passed for them."

Martha inhales sharply, clutching her own chipped tea cup. Her eyes water and her breathing picks up. " _Oh no._ "

"For the _most_ part, everyone seemed happy. We got to see Cran and Durlin." Beverly tries to space the sorrow with some levity. _Cushion the blow_ , as it were. "They got married. Durlin got _hot_." He blushes. It is both embarrassment and shame.

"It's the Brightfoot genes," Martha laughs into her tea, "their men have _always_ been lookers."

"They have two kids. _Little_ younger than we were when we started hanging out. Beverlin and Hardshine."

" _Fucking nerds_ ," Hardwon adds, disguised by a fake cough. Moonshine swats him on the arm. Balnor just drinks a cup of tea-flavored milk and listens.

"I'm glad they're okay." Martha is staring at Beverly, steady eye contact that makes his toes curl in anxious understanding. It's coping. Just like he is, she's coping by finding something to be happy about.

"We _did_ get to see dad though. Midway through our time there. He was... _okay_." Not a lie. Not _yet_.

"Did he—"

"— _no!_ " Bev didn't mean to shout but the thought of his dad being unfaithful—like _him_ , cheating on Erlin with some Eladrin he'd never see again—made him _angrier_ than he was sad. His mom flinched back but there was a glimmer of hope there.

' _He still loves me_ ,' her eyes say. ' _He never stopped loving me_.'

He's going to have to break that look. Break that heart. _Hurt his mom_.

Bev swallows down another wave of anxiety and shame. He continues. "He helped us through _so much_ but...there was a battle for the Crown of the Winter Court." _Truth, truth, **truth**. **None** of this is a lie. You **can't** feel bad about lying to her because you **aren't**. You just need to feel bad about bringing her this news._ "There was an airship and...Queen Ezra... _and_ —" His eyes water and he starts to let the dam open a little bit. Just enough to sell the half-truth. "— _he's not coming home, mom_!"

He doesn't have to pretend to be broken. He _is_.

He opens the floodgates and his mom scoops him in her arms and joins him as they mourn. Sob. Wail. _Lament_.

Beverly Toegold IV is _gone_ and _never_ coming back.

They stay like that for a while. Beverly, with the knowledge that he's not telling her _everything_. Martha, wrapped around her remaining family member with the fear of loss gluing her hands around him. They grieve. And when they're done, Hardwon and Moonshine and Balnor have left the room, leaving them to this private moment of loss and fear.

And guilt. _And guilt._

Martha cups her son's face in her hands and presses her forehead against his, flush with the scar that cuts above his eyebrow. She exhales, shaky, and whispers, "Do you _have_ to go?"

"If I _don't_ , I'd be worse than Thiala. I'd be doing nothing to help when I'm able." The guilt. _The guilt. **The guilt**._ It's _partially_ his fault. He _has_ to atone. Repent. _Repent. **Repent**._

" _I know_ ," she says. He believes her. He knows _she_ knows the cost of war. She almost lost his dad to the War against Asmodeus before he was born. Now she's going to lose _him_ to the wars that follow.

" _I'm sorry_." And he _is_. He's _so sorry_ he's going to do this; _is_ doing this. He's sorry he's _lying_ to her. He's sorry he did this, to _both_ of them—both her and his dad. He's so, _so_ sorry that he hasn't been good enough to keep them _both_ happy and _alive_.

" _Don't be_." A platitude. Kindness. Empty words, but she _probably_ believes them. She pulls him close again, back into a tight embrace.

"You know," he says into her shoulder, "I wish that she'd _never come back._ " He doesn't have to say who 'she' is. They both know who 'she' is. "I wish she'd _died_ in the Nine Hells."

Martha says nothing else. What else _could_ she say? Instead, she hums softly and holds him close. They stay there, in that warmth, for a little longer. Then they break apart and she gives him the weakest smile she's managed so far.

"You going out after or do you plan on spending the night?"

"We need a place to stay tonight. Traveling is... _hard_ right now." _Everyone's needs have changed so much that traveling like normal is **impossible**. It would be nice to sleep in a bed for a change._ "After a quick restock, we're gonna head out after though. Sorry it can't be for longer."

"You gotta go save the world, _huh_?"

"Yeah." _Not like I have a choice any more._

"Well, tell Nana I said 'hello', _hm_? And that she, Egwene, and Erlin are welcome _any time_ for a bit of food and some company." The thinly veiled laughter that follows her innocuous statement sets Bev's cheeks ablaze. "Enjoy your time here and know that you can always come back. This is _your_ home too."

_But it's **not**. It doesn't **feel** like it._

"Will do."

And he stands. And he leaves. And he has a sudden realisation that this is probably the second time she's seen a Beverly Toegold in armor tell her he was off to fight a war.

And he buries that down with the rest of the guilt.

Because he has to find Erlin.

* * *

The Kindleaf home is one of the only other hill-homes that has a fire running in it. While the other halflings are off doing _gods know what_ —watch, hunting, tending farms, or whatever they've been doing while pretending the world _isn't_ coming to an end—only the Kindleaf house is truly _occupied_.

As Beverly walks up to the front gate closing off the fenced-in property from the main thoroughfare, he sees movement above him and sidesteps an arrow. A second one follows and he subconsciously raises his sword to block it, eyes raking the skyline for the source. A flash of green atop the Kindleaf residence draws his gaze and he calls upon Pelor to _Command_ his attacker.

" ** _Reveal yourself!_** " The magic catches—he can feel the warmth of acceptance link him to whomever is on the receiving end of his _Command_ —and he calls out again, adding, "I don't want to fight if I don't _have_ to!"

From over the top of the Kindleaf house steps Egwene, her helm pulled over her face and her bow held lax in one hand. " _Christ_ , Toegold! Learn to take a _joke_ , why don't you?!"

Relief seeps into his chest like fresh air and he sheaths his blade, letting the magic that is gripping her loose. "Firing arrows at me is a _joke_?!"

"They wouldn't've _killed_ you! I've got better aim than _that_!" She pulls her helm back so she can properly yell at him. Her eyes are harder than he remembers. He wonders if she thinks the same of him. "Plus, last _I_ checked, you could take two arrows to the gut and be _fine_! You fucking _baby_!"

"Being _able_ to take it and _liking_ it are two different things!"

" _Still a fucking baby_!" She sits down and lights a cigarette, taking a long drag. Her feet dangle over the shade of the front window. She raises an eyebrow and gestures at the door. " _Speaking_ of—?"

Beverly gets closer to where she's smoking before he continues talking at a lower volume. "Is he home?"

"Where else would he be? _Aside_ from watching the hills and pining like some kind of widow from those cheap books Nana likes so much?"

His face burns hot. He can feel the flush in his ears. " _I don't know?!_ "

"Calm your tits, Toegold," her voice loses some of its edge. "He's been helping Nana cook. Hence the smoke."

Bev takes a long moment before asking, "Is he doing okay?" His voice is low, barely loud enough for Egwene to hear and, for a brief second, he wonders why he's even asking her. Then Terran comes to mind, as does his sixteenth birthday and Hardwon and his dad and all the other things, and he has to push the tears back behind the dam again.

Egwene tilts her head and exhales a long plume of smoke from her nose. Cloves gently drift on the breeze and Bev is reminded of home and cooking and cookies. Warm molasses and cinnamon and walnuts. Dough and milk and hugs and snow. Family. _Love_. "He's been spending a lot of time in the temple. Not as exciting or _active_ as being in the Green Teens but...he's been putting a lot of effort into becoming a halfway decent cleric."

" _That's good_."

She shrugs. "He's at least not _moping_ any more."

Bev looks at her with alarm, ears shaking slightly. " _Moping_?"

She snickers around another exhalation of smoke. "Fucking dweebus spent almost a _week_ laying in bed, bemoaning about how he should've just _gone with you_ or _been a better Green Teen_ or some third thing. Wasn't until Nana took him to your mom that he stopped weeping and started _trying_." He relaxes. Then he's acutely aware of how this, too, is different than it used to be.

Egwene was, for the _longest_ time, the most _terrifying_ person he'd ever known. She bullied him and Cran and Durlin and Erlin, smoked, swore, and drank. She was a Green Knight at sixteen and an accurate and deadly marksman. But now, after all he's been through, she's _just_ another _person_.

She's not Thiala, with wings of holy fire and a voice that commands whole armies of fanatical angels. She's not Akarot, with legions of eyeless servants and hollow forms to inhabit and puppet about. She's not Ezra, eyes gouged out by a crown of twisted power that allows her to see secrets and futures belonging to everyone else. She's not the Hound Zalek and his Death Lance or the Montgomerys and their thralls or Duttle and his monsters. She's just Egwene Kindleaf and she cares as much about these people as he does.

Maybe even _more_.

The realization shocks a burst of hysterical laughter out of Beverly, who claps a hand over his mouth and blushes.

Egwene sneers around her cigarette. "What's so funny, _Slowgold_?"

"I just realized that I beat your record."

" _Huh_?"

He meets her eyes and smiles, wide and insincere, cloaking his terror behind the absurd thought he had. "Your claim to fame? _Youngest Green Knight in Galaderon_? I beat it."

"Wh - _how_?!"

"In the Faewild, before we... _after_ we found dad? He Knighted me. _Fifteen_. Then my birthday, then _now_." Another hysterical giggle bubbles up and he can't hold the tears back for much longer. His laugh turns into a hiccup, the tears leading to more.

" _Fuck_." She hisses out. As he doubles over, laughter cloaking his shaking sobbing, she stubs out her cigarette and hops off the roof and wraps him in an awkward, one-armed hug. " _Shit_. Fucking...you gonna be _okay_ , Toegold?"

He doesn't answer. How _can_ he? She'd probably see right through him, transparent as he is now.

" _Fucking_ \- alright. _C'mon_. Let's sit down."

" _I can't_." He manages. It gives her pause. Before she can press, he continues on. "I have to keep going. _I can't stop_."

She doesn't let go but he can feel her grip go lax. She isn't clutching on to him as much as she's just holding his arm. Does she understand? Does she _know_? Is her attack on him less of a _joke_ and more of a reaction out of fear? Or is he just projecting, _like always_?

"So I'm gonna _talk to Erlin_. And then I'm gonna _go to sleep_. Then I'm gonna leave _again_. I can't _afford_ to stop."

Can she hear it in his voice?

Is she the only one who can understand the burden he carries? Even remotely?

Because _she_ can't relax either and he _knows_.

He can see it in her eyes and recognizes it in his own.

_He knows._

There is a heavy pause before she answers. One word. " _Alright_." She draws away, hand leaving a lingering ghost of warmth on his skin. He resists the urge to ask her to stay. No going back now.

Instead he smiles, wipes away his tears, and asks, "How do I look?"

"Like you spent the last five fucking minutes crying your eyes out," she answers honestly. He laughs at this and she smiles. Both are fake as their bravado. "Go be _mushy_ , you shit."

" _Bye_ Egwene." She clambers off and disappears in the horizon, bow back in her hands. Probably to continue her vigil. Beverly turns to the door and raises his hand.

Just knock. _Knock. **Knock**._

And he _does_.


End file.
